Severna’s Slaves
Continuing the story begun in "Severna’s Strugglers"
Thursday evening, 11:30 p.m.
*****
Leigh Ling did her best work at this hour, alone and unbothered at home. She could be comfortable and relaxed but also focused.
She leaned back in her office chair, bare legs sticking out from her flannel nightshirt, bare feet propped up on her desk beside the large flat screen monitor. Dozens of images from her camera covered the display. They showed hard evidence that an organized crime family did indeed own and occupy the building on 5th Street, which they vehemently claimed they didn’t.
One by one, Leigh deleted the files from her computer and camera. When she was done, she opened an email window and began to type out a message to the reporter she was working with on the story.
“Went through all pictures,” she wrote. “No evidence. Will have to find another lead to continue.”
She sent the message, then closed out of the program. Opening up her favorite game, she began to play. Tomorrow, she decided, would be a good day to go in late, or maybe not at all.
*****
Farrah Bulloch sighed and stretched out over the bedsheets. She wore nothing and felt great. Strewn about her lay handcuffs, a riding crop, a feather, and several other implements that she had never expected to have used on her.
A woman wearing a corset, garters, stockings, and stiletto heels stood at Farrah’s feet. She stroked a feather that was twin to the one on the bed.
“Which did you like better?” she asked. “Feather or tongue?”
“Mmm,” Farrah said. “Why do I have to choose?”
“The answer is, you don’t. Listen, I have to leave now. But this doesn’t have to end with tonight. Not for you, nor for any of our patrons. We just want to make people happy. Like I made you happy. We’re not bad guys. We’re not criminals. You don’t have to shut us down, Detective.”
“No, I guess I don’t. Now get out of here and let me sleep. But if you want, you can come back tomorrow night.”
*****
Black Owl had been awake for an hour, after sleeping for three. She had woken by habit without an alarm. Then, she had begun her nightly regimen of push-ups, chin-ups, pull-ups, squats, et al in her T-shirt and briefs.
Now, with her exercises completed, she would normally suit up and head out to patrol the city as enigmatic crime fighter and nocturnal avenger.
But tonight, she didn’t want to go. She sat in her favorite chair with her feet up on the ottoman, unmotivated, undressed, and uncaring.
She needed a night for herself. How long had it been since she had stayed in? How long since she had given herself a much needed break? There would always be crime, and she could only stop or avenge so much of it. To hell with self-righteousness and guilt. She needed tonight, and she would have it.
Closing her eyes, she reached a hand down the front of her panties. She smiled as she took the night and made it her own.
****
Fifteen high-tech displays washed Hyperia with the tidal glow of their constantly changing images. She sat before them, attentive and yet indescribably bored. Behind her, an imposing figure loomed.
“I’m sorry you’re stuck here tonight,” Suprawoman said. “I’d really rather you were out in the field with me. But we do need someone on monitor duty, and--”
“No problem,” Hyperia said. “I got this. Go save lives and make the world safe.”
As soon as her mentor was gone, Hyperia blew out a raspberry. She kicked off her boots, raised up her bare feet, and began deftly powering off the displays with her toes. When all were off but the center one, she pulled a remote control out of a nearby drawer.
“Rom-com, sci-fi, or disaster movie?” she asked herself.
For a brief moment, she slipped into a daydream where Suprawoman wasn’t there to respond to crises, rescue people from certain doom, or boss her around.
“Disaster movie it is,” she decided with a grin.
*****
Thirty minutes earlier--Thursday evening, 11:00 p.m.
*****
“Hello?”
Leigh Ling did her best work at this hour, and interrupting phone calls didn’t make her happy. But she had a reporter to work with and an editor to appease, so not answering the phone wasn’t an option.
“Hello, my slave.”
Leah shivered. Then a sensation of calm, warmth, and well-being blossomed within her at the sound of Severna Strickland’s voice.
“Hello, Mistress. How may I serve you?”
“Are you working with pictures of the building on 5th Street?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“They don’t have anything in them that will help you with your story. Get rid of them.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Then, when you are finished with your work, relax and enjoy the rest of your evening. And tomorrow, too.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good night, my slave.”
“Good night, Mistress.”
Leah blinked and looked at the phone, which sat in its cradle. Why had she been ready to answer it when it hadn’t even rung? She needed to not work so hard. She would finish up with the files from her camera, and then she would take some time for herself.
*****
“Yes, Black Owl?”
Farrah Bulloch had answered the direct, untraceable line that linked her and her crime fighting ally.
“Hello, my slave.”
Farrah’s face and body went slack. The sound of Severna’s voice drained all tension from her.
“Hello, Mistress. How may I serve you?”
“You have a visitor standing outside your front door. You should let her in and allow her to show you a good time. Follow her lead and allow her to do to you what she will.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“After she has had her way with you, she will try to persuade you to not target her brothel in your campaign to clean up the city. Allow yourself to be so persuaded.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good night, my slave.”
“Good night, Mistress.”
Farrah cocked her head to one side, listening. Had that been the phone? No, of course not. It had been the doorbell. Normally cautious as every police detective was, she didn’t feel the need to be tonight. Curious but unwary, she went to the front door to see who was there.
*****
“Yes, Detective?”
Black Owl had answered the direct, untraceable line that linked her and her law enforcement ally.
“Hello, my slave.”
At the sound of Severna’s voice, Black Owl’s jaw dropped, and her eyes rolled momentarily back in their sockets. She breathed out and suddenly found herself feeling content and at peace.
“Hello, Mistress. How may I serve you?”
“You needn’t go out on patrol tonight. Nothing out of the ordinary is happening in the city. Wouldn’t you better serve yourself, and all those you choose to protect and aid, by giving yourself a night off?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Also...of all my new slaves, you are the most uptight. I think I would like you better, and you would like yourself better, too, if you would allow yourself to unwind. So tonight, treat yourself to something special. Stay in. Answer no further calls. Attend to yourself. Fulfill your needs.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good night, my slave.”
“Good night, Mistress.”
Black Owl wondered why she had stopped doing arm curls. She still had one dumbbell in her hand. Lowering it to the floor she thought that she had stopped doing them because she wanted to. She was done for now. She was done for the night.
*****
“This is Hyperia, how can I help you?”
Taking calls on monitor duty was Hyperia’s least favorite part of the job. After previous scoldings from Suprawoman, though, she tried to hide the displeasure from her voice when on the phone.
“Hello, my slave.”
Hyperia let out a wavering breath, as Severna’s greeting flooded her mind with a whirling blur of images and feelings that she neither understood, nor fully remembered.
“Hello, Mistress. How may I serve you?”
“You may serve me, my dear, by reverting to the rebellious teen that you were so few years ago. Suprawoman and her monitor duty be damned. The world won’t end for a night. Kick back, have fun. If you must watch something, make it a movie, rather than those boring old satellite news and government feeds.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Of course, you’ll need to wait until Suprawoman leaves HQ. You don’t need her lecturing you and putting you back on track to being Little Miss Responsibility.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good night, my slave.”
“Good night, Mistress.”
Jeez, Hyperia thought, when would people learn that superhero hotlines weren’t for calling about treed cats? She looked at the clock on the main display in front of her. How long until Suprawoman finally left for the night? Too long, she thought. Too long.